


Event Horizon

by LadyoftheShield



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man (Video Game 2018), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Batman: Arkham (Video Games) Setting, Arkham Asylum is Terrible, Character Study, Gen, M/M, No Sex, No Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyoftheShield/pseuds/LadyoftheShield
Summary: The first steps Peter Parker takes on the grounds of Arkham Asylum. Written for the RedSpider discord.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Peter Parker, Tim Drake/Peter Parker
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24
Collections: Batcest-B-Gone





	Event Horizon

“I can’t believe I agreed to this.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Peter argued, speeding up just in time to slip past the yellow light.

“You drive like a New Yorker!” 

“You didn’t have to let me drive,” Peter pointed out, “and what does that mean ‘I drive like a New Yorker’?”

“You're driving because Nightwing always drives,” Tim said, “and you, as far as anyone knows, are Nightwing for now. Next left.”

“Got it,” Peter said, swinging around the curve like a wild punch. The open air on his face alone sent adrenaline down his veins. Yesterday if someone had asked him to go in the field without his full-face mask, he’d have laughed in theirs. But this was different. The partial mask worked for Dick Grayson, he told himself, for many other heroes. He could do this for one night.

They stopped outside the gates of Arkham. The giant metal doors loomed over them, bookended on either side with massive stone towers topped with iron spikes. Reaching through the seams on his wrists, Peter adjusted his webshooters. They’d been altered to work with Nightwing’s uniform, but it was a rush job and the sensation of the kevlar was unfamiliar. He was lucky that he and Nightwing were about the same height and weight, or this never would have worked.

“Peter. It’s rough in there.” Tim hadn’t raised the cowl of his Red Robin uniform yet. His tired storm-grey eyes took Peter’s gaze. “It’s not like- Hell’s Kitchen, or even the East End.”

He reached out and cupped Tim’s chin. “I know. That’s why I’m doing this.”

“I wish you wouldn’t,” Tim said, covering Peter’s hand with his own. “If you have to tap out, I need you to tell me.” 

“You said it yourself: it’s a skeleton crew tonight. I can’t let you go in there alone.”

“Remember what we talked about. Save the webbing unless it’s necessary and watch the strength. You’re not authorized to be here and our relationship with law enforcement is strained enough.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Tim’s hand tightened on Peter’s, then let it go. “Let’s do this, then,” he said, pulling the cowl up over his face.

They stepped out of the car. Red Robin strode towards the gate, and Peter followed abreast of him. The moment he passed under the gate- before, almost- his Spider Sense went off. Not the frantic shriek when a thug was about to get a drop on him, or the rumbling thunder of a ticking bomb. No. This was the way it buzzed when Norman was in the room, this is the way it buzzed when a symbiote was loose: a quiet, incessant murmur that clung to his scalp like a bad haircut. 

Leaves lay, scattered by the wind and rain on the path before them, dry and brittle as stale crackers. Even though he couldn’t see the ocean, the distant roar of the waves dashing themselves against the island made itself heard over the wind’s keening. The sea’s salty, rusty smell pricked at his unprotected nose, floating on the wind as it tore past them, caressing his hair. He ran a hand through it, pulling it back into place. The sensation of loose hair in the field would take some getting used to.

“Careful. The dye’s still wet.” Red Robin’s voice was low, so low that only his hearing could have picked it up.

“Right. Gotcha.” 

It was open, far more open than the streets of Gotham or even New York. Ancient, crumbling brick buildings stood across from half-built concrete structures. Some of those pillars could bear his weight if he had to make a quick exit, but he’d have to be picky about where he swung and how high. He couldn’t trust anything that looked older than he was, and most of the solid construction had spikes built onto the roof. 

“I hate this city,” he muttered, “Half the shit you build is for the aesthetique. Some of us are trying to swing here.” 

Red Robin shrugged. “Feel free to lodge a complaint with the Board.” The attempt at levity fell flat, and under the buzz of his Spider-Sense, Peter could not pull a reply. 

The road split ahead of them in three, leading to a pair of massive metal gates on either side of the courtyard. These weren’t your traditional barred gate like at the door – these were solid interlocking gates, designed to keep people contained. This was supposed to be a mental health facility? More like the Raft than anything else.

“You can almost smell the human rights abuses from here,” he said in a low voice, trying to relieve the tension he could sense building in Red Robin’s chest.

“Intensive Treatment. Straight ahead,” Red Robin said, sidestepping the crack. His gaze darted over to Peter as he spoke, and the corner of his mouth tightened in a silent plea. 

Not now. Ok. 

The building loomed over them like the skull of a fallen giant. A mirrored pair of windows lit with pale, sickly light glinted, watching them as they approached. He had always thought Gotham was about as cheery and festive as a mausoleum. Standing in the true heart of the city, he now understood why.

“Ready for this?” Red Robin asked, his even, steady stride breaking in front of the door.

“Are you?”

The moment hung between them before Tim admitted, so low Peter almost couldn’t hear it, “I have to be.”

“We have to,” he corrected softly as the massive door to Intensive Treatment cracked across the middle and split open. Together, they stepped into the maw, and let the jaws snap shut behind them.

***

As soon as they stepped through the gate, Peter’s shoulders tensed. His Spider Sense was going off. Red Robin cast a quick glance around them, scanning through the scattered bushes, checking the guard room tucked away behind the exterior wall. He saw no movement, and the guard room was unmanned with an active security gate. For now, at least, there was a clear shot back to the Batmobile if they needed to make a quick exit.

Already, he could tell Peter was taking a mental inventory of what he could use to swing by the way his head turned, moving from structure to structure. He wrinkled his nose at the Intensive Treatment building, a frown splitting his face. Peter ran a nervous hand through his hair, some of the fresh black dye clinging to the blue fingerstripes. Some of the tension in his chest bled away. Peter could get cocky sometimes and here, that very well might be the death of him.

“Careful,” he said in a low voice, tilting his head away from the watching cameras, “the dye’s still wet.” This would be difficult. There were cameras and microphones everywhere. Spider-man revealing himself in Arkham Asylum would destroy the fragile truce they’d built with Gotham’s law enforcement. Worse, it would be a matter of cross-referencing visitors to Gotham- determining what New York natives were in Gotham while Spider-man was on Arkham Island –

“I hate this city,” he said. “Half the shit you build is for the aesthetique. Some of us are trying to swing here.”

Red Robin shrugged. “Feel free to lodge a complaint with the Board,” he said. The spikes were newer additions to the Arkham facilities - for the aesthetic, Warden Sharp had claimed - but they were installed in places where they were difficult to see from the road, where visitors were not authorized to access. The side effect of making the rooftops more difficult to access was completely intentional, and Sharp’s attempt at warding off the local bat population. Not that it stopped any of them. It just made stealthy movement far more annoying.

Peter’s frown tightened as they approached the gate. He was thinking of the Raft. Another reason he hadn’t wanted Peter to come along- the layout and technology weren’t quite the same, but they were just similar enough to be a problem if Peter got stunned and something triggered one of his senses.

“You can almost smell the human rights abuses from here,” Peter joked beside him.

You have no idea, he wanted to say, but the cameras were watching. He glanced over at Peter, and their eyes met. Stay focused. Don't get cocky. Please. He hadn’t been embellishing when he’d warned Peter about how rough it was in Arkham. There were many reasons Bruce Wayne poured so much money into lobbying for stricter regulations of privatized, for-profit mental health institutions, and the horrors committed by the doctors at Arkham Asylum were at least half of them. 

“Intensive Treatment,” he said, “straight ahead.” This was it. Once they stepped in- once Peter stepped in- there was no turning back. He restrained the urge to brush Peter’s hand. Letting on his concern, his uncertainty, would only worsen Peter’s overprotectiveness. It was going to be a long night. “Ready for this?” he asked, turning to Peter as the door scanned them to determine their authorization. 

Peter tore his gaze from the looming building overhead, and looked back at him. “Are you?”

Fear gas and tally marks, twisting rot of apathy and cruelty in the name of profit and research lay in wait for them, glowering by hot, blood-stinking breath and clown’s laughter. Peter was not ready for this, and he was not ready for the fallout. Peter was not coming out of this unscathed. Arkham changed you, no matter your reasons for being there. “I have to be,” he said at last, knowing any other answer would lead to more questioning.

He gambled right. Instead of further questions, Peter turned to face the door as it opened before them. “We have to be,” he said, and Red Robin did not correct him.


End file.
